 | CHAPTER III.
WILFORD CAMERON. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
WILFORD CAMERON.
THE day succeeding Katy Lenox's return to Silverton
was rainy and cold for the season, the storm extending
as far westward as the city of New York,
and making Wilford Cameron shiver as he stepped
him, first greeting pleasantly the white-gloved driver,
who, closing the carriage door, mounted to his seat and
drove his handsome bays in the direction of No. — Fifth
Avenue. And Wilford, leaning back among the cushions,
thought how pleasant it was to be home again, feeling glad,
as he frequently did, that the home was in every particular
unexceptionable. The Camerons, he knew, were an old
and highly respectable family, while it was his mother's
pride that, go back as far as one might, on either side
there could not be found a single blemish, or a member
of whom to be ashamed. On the Cameron side there
were millionaires, merchant princes, bankers, and stockholders,
professors and scholars, while on hers, the Rossiter
side, there were LL.D.'s and D. D.'s, lawyers and
clergymen, authors and artists, beauties and belles, the
whole forming an illustrious line of ancestry, admirably
represented and sustamed by the present family of Camerons,
occupying the brown-stone front, corner of —
street and Fifth Avenue, where the handsome carriage
stopped, and a tall figure ran quickly up the marble steps.
There was a soft rustle of silk, an odor of delicate perfume,
and from the luxurious chair before the fire kindled
in the grate, a lady rose and advanced a step or two
towards the parlor door. In another moment she was
kissing the young man bending over her and saluting her
as mother, kissing him quietly, properly, as the Camerons
always kissed. She was very glad to have Wilford
home again, for he was her favorite child; and brushing
the rain-drops from his coat she led him to the fire, offering
him her own easy-chair, and starting herself in quest
of another. But Wilford held her back, and making her
sit down, he drew an ottoman beside her, and then asked
her first how she had been, then where his sisters were,
and if his father had come home—for there was a father,
a quiet, unassuming man, who stayed all day in Wall
street, seldom coming home in time to carve at his own
dinner table, and when he was at home, asking for nothing
except to be left by his fashionable wife and daughters
to himself, free to smoke and doze over his evening
paper in the seclusion of his own reading-room.
As Wilford's question concerning his sire had been the
mother parting his dark hair with her jeweled hand, and
telling him first that, with the exception of a cold taken
at the Park on Saturday afternoon, she was in usual
health—second, that Juno was spending a few days in
Orange, and that Bell had gone to pass the night with
her particular friend, Mrs. Meredith, the most bookish
woman in New York.
“Your father,” the lady added, “has not yet returned;
but as the dinner is ready I think we will not wait.”
She touched a silver bell beside her, and ordering dinner
to be sent up at once, went on to ask her son concerning
his journey and the people he had met. But
Wilford, though intending to tell her all, would wait till
after dinner. So, offering her his arm, he led her out to
where the table was spread, widely different from the
table prepared for Katy Lennox among the Silverton hills,
for where at the farm-house there had been only the
homely wares common to the country, with Aunt Betsy's
onions served in a bowl, there was here the finest of
damask, the choicest of china, the costliest of cut-glass,
and the heaviest of silver, with the well-trained waiter
gliding in and out, himself the very personification of
strict table etiquette, such as the Barlows had never
dreamed about. There was no fricasseed chicken here,
or flaky crust, with pickled beans and apple-sauce; no
custard pie with strawberries and rich, sweet cream,
poured from a blue earthen pitcher; but there were
soups, and fish, and roasted meats, and dishes with
French names and taste, and dessert elaborately gotten
up, and served with the utmost precision, and Mrs. Cameron
presiding over all with lady-like decorum, her soft
glossy silk of brown, with her rich lace and diamond pin
in perfect keeping with herself and her surroundings.
And opposite to her Wilford sat, a tall, dark, handsome
man, of thirty or thereabouts—a man, whose polished
manners betokened at once a perfect knowledge of the
world, and whose face, to a close observer, indicated how
little satisfaction he had as yet found in the world. He had
tried its pleasures, drinking the cup of freedom and happiness
to its very dregs, and though he thought he liked
it, he often found himself dissatisfied and reaching after
the living for. He had traveled all over Europe twice,
had visited every spot worth visiting in his own country,
had been a frequenter of every fashionable resort in New
York, from the skating-pond to the theatres, had been
admitted as a lawyer, had opened an office on Broadway,
acquiring some reputation in his profession, had looked
at more than twenty girls with the view of making them
his wife, and found them, as he believed, alike fickle, selfish,
artificial and hollow-hearted. In short, while thinking
far more of family, and accomplishments, and style,
than he ought, he was yet heartily tired of the butterflies
who flitted so constantly around him, offering to be
caught if he would but stretch out his hand to catch
them. This he would not do, and disgusted with the
world as he saw it in New York, he had gone to the Far
West, roaming awhile amid the solitude of the broad prairies,
and finding there much that was soothing to him,
but not discovering the fulfillment of the great want he
was craving until coming back to Canandaigua, he met
with Katy Lennox. He had smiled wearily when asked by
Mrs. Woodhull to go with her to the examination then in
progress at the Seminary. There was nothing there to
interest him, he thought, as Euclid and Algebra, French
and Rhetoric were bygone things, while young schoolmisses,
in braided hair and pantalettes, were shockingly
insipid. Still, to be polite to Mrs. Woodhull, a childless,
fashionable woman, who patronized Canandaigua generally
and Katy Lennox in particular, he consented, and
soon found himself in the crowded room, the cynosure
of many eyes as the whisper ran round that the fine-looking
man with Mrs. Woodhull was Wilford Cameron,
from New York, brother to the proud, dashing Juno
Cameron, who once spent a few weeks in town. Wilford
knew they were talking about him, but he did not care,
and assuming as easy an attitude as possible, he leaned
back in his chair, yawning indolently until the class in
Algebra was called, and Katy Lennox came tripping on
the stage, a pale blue ribbon in her golden hair, and her
simple dress of white relieved by no ornament except the
cluster of wild flowers fastened in her belt and at her
throat. But Katy needed no ornaments to make her
glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, she first burst upon
Wilford's vision, a creature of rare, bewitching beauty,
such as he had never dreamed about.
Wilford had met his destiny, and he felt it in every
throb of blood which went rushing through his veins.
“Who is she?” he asked of Mrs. Woodhull, and that
lady knew at once whom he meant, even though he had
not designated her.
An old acquaintance of Mrs. Lennox when she lived in
East Bloomfield, Mrs. Woodhull had petted Katy from the
first day of her arrival in Canadaigua with a letter of
introduction to herself from the ambitious mother, and
being rather inclined to match-making, she had had Katy
in her mind when she urged Wilford to accompany her to
the Seminary. Accordingly she answered him at once,
“That is Katy Lennox, daughter of Judge Lennox, who
died in East Bloomfield a few years ago.”
“Pretty, is she not?”
Wilford did not answer her. He had neither eye nor
ear for anything save Katy, acquitting herself with a good
deal of credit as she worked out a rather difficult problem,
her dimpled white hand showing to good advantage
against the deep black of the board; and then her voice,
soft-toned and silvery, as a lady's voice should be, thrilled
in Wilford's ear, awaking a strange feeling of disquiet, as
if the world would never again be quite the same to him
that it was before he met that fair young girl now passing
from the room.
Mrs. Woodhull saw that he was interested. It was
time he was settled in life. With the exception of wealth
and family position, he could not find a better wife than
Katy, and she would do what she could to bring the
marriage about. Accordingly, having first gained the
preceptress's consent, Katy was taken home with her to
dinner. And this was how Wilford Cameron came to
know little Katy Lennox, the simple-hearted child, who
blushed so prettily when first presented to him, and
blushed again when he praised her recitations, but who
after that forgot the difference in their social relations,
laughing and chatting as merrily in his presence as if
she had been alone with Mrs. Woodhull. This was the
of herself or what he might think of her, that he could
not sit in judgment upon her, and he watched her eagerly
as she sported, and flashed, and sparkled, filling the
room with sunshine, and putting to rout the entire regiment
of blues which had been for months harassing the
city-bred young man.
If there was any one thing in which Katy excelled, it
was music, both vocal and instrumental, a taste for
which had been developed very early, and fostered by
Morris Grant, who had seen that his cousin had every
advantage which Silverton could afford. Great pains had
been given to her style of playing while in Canandaigua, so
that as a performer upon the piano she had few rivals in the
seminary, while her birdlike voice filled every nook and
corner of the room, where, on the night after her visit to
Mrs. Woodhull, a select exhibition was held, Katy shining
as the one bright star, and winning golden laurels
for beauty, grace, and perfect self-possession, from others
than Wilford Cameron, who was one of the invited auditors.
Juno herself could not equal that, he thought, as
Katy's fingers flew over the keys, executing a brilliant
and difficult piece without a single mistake, and receiving
the applause of the spectators easily, naturally, as if
it were an every day occurrence. But when by request
she sang “Comin' through the Rye,” Wilford's heart, if
he had any before, was wholly gone, and he dreamed of
Katy Lennox that night, wondering all the ensuing day
how his haughty mother would receive that young school
girl as her daughter, wife of the son whose bride she
fancied must be equal to the first lady in the land. And
if Katy were not now equal she could be made so, Wilford
thought, wondering if Canandaigua were the best
place for her, and if she would consent to receive a year
or two years' tuition from him, provided her family were
poor. He did not know as they were, but he would ask,
and he did, feeling a pang of regret when he heard to
some extent how Katy was circumstanced. Mrs. Woodhull
had never been to Silverton, and so she did not
know of Uncle Ephraim, and his old-fashioned sister; but
she knew that they were poor—that some relation sent
as she detected the shadow on his face, that one could
not expect everything, and that a girl like Katy was not
found every day. Wilford admitted all this, growing
more and more infatuated, until at last he consented to
join the traveling party, provided Katy joined it too, and
when on the morning of their departure for the Falls he
seated himself beside her in the car, he could not well
have been happier, unless she had really been his wife,
as he so much wished she was.
It was a most delightful trip, and Wilford was better
satisfied with himself than he had been before in years.
His past life was not all free from error, and there were
many sad memories haunting him, but with Katy at his
side, seeing what he saw, admiring what he admired, and
doing what he bade her do, he gave the bygones to the
wind, feeling only an intense desire to clasp the young
girl in his arms and bear her away to some spot where
with her pure fresh life all his own he could begin the
world anew, and retrieve the past which he had lost.
This was when he was with Katy. Away from her he
could remember the difference in their position, and
prudential motives began to make themselves heard.
Never but once had he taken an important step without
consulting his mother, and the trouble in which that
had involved him warned him to be more cautious a
second time. And this was why Katy came back to Silverton
unengaged, leaving her heart with Wilford Cameron,
who would first seek advice from his mother ere
committing himself by word. He had seen the white-haired
man waiting for her when the train stopped at Silverton,
but standing there as he did, with his silvery
locks parted in the centre, and shading his honest, open
face, Uncle Ephraim looked like some patriarch of old
rather than a man to be despised, and Wilford felt only
respect for him until he saw Katy's arms wound so lovingly
around his neck as she called him Uncle Eph.
That sight grated harshly, and Wilford felt glad that he
was not bound to her by any pledge. Very curiously he
looked after the couple, witnessing the meeting between
Katy and old Whitey, and guessing rightly that the corn-colored
vehicle was the one sent to transport Katy home.
Silverton and Albany, where he parted with his
Canandaigua friends, they going on to the westward,
while he stopped all night in Albany, where he had some
business to transact for his father.
He was intending to tell his mother everything, except
that he paid Katy's bills. He would rather keep
that to himself, as it might shock his mother's sense of
propriety and make her think less of Katy; so after dinner
was over, and they had returned to the parlor, he
opened the subject by asking her to guess what took
him off so suddenly with Mrs. Woodhull.
The mother did not know—unless—and a strange
light gleamed in her eye, as she asked if it were some
girl.
“Yes, mother, it was,” and without any reservation
Wilford frankly told the story of his interest in Katy
Lennox.
He admitted that she was poor and unaccustomed to
society, but he loved her more than words could express.
“Not as I loved Genevra,” he said, and there came a
look of intense pain into his eyes as he continued.
“That was the passion of a boy of nineteen, stimulated
by secrecy, but this is the love of a mature man of thirty,
who feels that he is capable of judging for himself.”
In Wilford's voice there was a tone warning the mother
that opposition would only feed the flame, and so she
offered none directly, but heard him patiently to the
end, and then quietly questioned him of Katy and her
family, especially the last. What did he know of it?
Was it one to detract from the Cameron line, kept untarnished
so long? Were the relatives such as he never
need blush to own even if they came there into their
drawing-rooms as they would come if Katy did?
Wilford thought of Uncle Ephraim as he had seen him
upon the platform at Silverton, and could scarcely repress
a smile as he pictured to himself his mother's consternation
at beholding that man in her drawing-room.
But he did not mention the deacon, though he acknowledged
that Katy's family friends were not exactly the
Cameron style. But Katy was young: Katy could be
his mother and sisters could make of her what they
pleased.
“I understand, then, that if you marry her you do not
marry the family,” and in the handsome matronly face
there was an expression from which Katy would have
shrunk, could she have seen it and understood its meaning.
“No, I do not marry the family,” Wilford rejoined
emphatically, but the expression of his face was different
from his mother's, for where she thought only of herself,
not hesitating to trample on all Katy's love of home and
friends, Wilford remembered Katy, thinking how he
would make amends for separating her wholly from her
home as he surely meant to do if he should win her.
“Did I tell you,” he continued, “that her father was a
judge? She must be well connected on that side. And
now, what shall I do?” he asked playfully. “Shall I
propose to Katy Lennox, or shall I try to forget her?”
“I should not do either,” was Mrs. Cameron's reply,
for she knew that trying to forget her was the surest
way of keeping her in mind, and she dared not confess
to him how determined she was that Katy Lennox should
never be her daughter if she could prevent it.
If she could not, then as a lady and a woman of policy,
she should make the most of it, receiving Katy kindly
and doing her best to educate her up to the Cameron
ideas of style and manner.
“Let matters take their course for a while,” she said,
“and see how you feel after a little. We are going to
Newport the first of August, and perhaps you may find
somebody there infinitely superior to this Katy Lennox.
That's your father's ring. He is earlier than usual to-night.
I would not tell him yet, till you are more decided,”
and the lady went hastily out into the hall to
meet her husband.
A moment more and the elder Cameron appeared—a
short, square-built man, with a face seamed with lines
of care and eyes much like Wilford's, save that the shaggy
eyebrows gave them a different expression. He was very
glad to see his son, though he merely shook his hand,
asking what nonsense took him off around the Lakes
happy unless they were chasing after fashion. The elder
Cameron was evidently not of his wife's way of thinking,
but she let him go on until he was through, and then,
with the most unruffled mien, suggested that his dinner
would be cold. He was accustomed to that and so he
did not mind, but he hurried through his lonely meal to-night,
for Wilford was home, and the father was always
happier when he knew his son was in the house. Contrary
to his usual custom, he spent the short summer
evening in the parlor, talking with Wilford on various
items of business, and thus preventing any further conversation
concerning Katy Lennox. It took but a short
time for Wilford to fall back into his old way of living,
passing a few hours of each day in his office, driving with
his mother, sparring with his imperious sister Juno, and
teasing his blue sister Bell, but never after that first
night breathing a word to any one of Katy Lennox.
And still Katy was not forgotten, as his mother sometimes
believed. On the contrary, the very silence he
kept concerning her increased his passion, until he began
seriously to contemplate a trip to Silverton. The family's
removal to Newport, however, diverted his attention for
a little, making him decide to wait and see what Newport
might have in store for him. But Newport was dull this
season, though Juno and Bell both found ample scope
for their different powers of attraction, and his mother was
always happy when showing off her children and knowing
that they were appreciated, but with Wilford it was
different. Listless and taciturn, he went through with
the daily routine, wondering how he had ever found happiness
there, and finally, at the close of the season, casting
all policy and prudence aside, he wrote to Katy Lennox
that he was coming to Silverton on his way home,
and that he presumed he should have no difficulty in
finding his way to the farm-house.
| CHAPTER III.
WILFORD CAMERON. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering | |